


Momentary Bliss

by spiderfool



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Drug Use, Drugs, Gen, Irondad, Irondad Bingo 2019, drug addict Tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 11:00:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18915604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiderfool/pseuds/spiderfool
Summary: Sixteen years. It took Tony Stark sixteen years to even remotely get to a point at which he felt stable, a point at which he felt good. He had a wonderful home, a job that he loved very much and a son that was his utter pride and joy. Peter was his everything; the kid was the reason why he even started to get his shit together, always pushing him to do better, even if he never knew it. And by God, Tony had never been so scared of disappointing anyone ever in his life. So of course he didn’t know why he went back.





	Momentary Bliss

**Author's Note:**

> My first irondad bingo fill! it's super depressing but i hope y'all enjoy!

Sixteen years. It took Tony Stark sixteen years to even remotely get to a point at which he felt stable, a point at which he felt  _ good _ . He had a wonderful home, a job that he loved very much and a son that was his utter pride and joy. Peter was his everything; the kid was the reason why he even started to get his shit together, always pushing him to do better, even if he never knew it. And by God, Tony had never been so scared of disappointing anyone ever in his life. So of course he didn’t know why he went back.

The day had started out just like any other day: Tony woke up, made a small breakfast for Pete, packed his lunch, woke the boy up for school, left for work. It was weird how the man appreciated the congested 495 on the drive to work. Traffic was not exactly the highlight of his day, but the fact that he was irritated by it meant that he was thinking about normal things like whether or not he could stop for Dunkin’ Donuts on the way to work and not when his next high would be. So he savored the nearly 45 minute drive to work due to the construction that was very stupidly being done at seven thirty in the morning. His palm itched.

After Tony finally pulled into his parking space in the garage he headed straight up to work, not wanting to be any more late than normal. He may have been his own boss, but he wasn’t going to make any more money not doing his work than actually being productive. So he got to work. Made phone calls, attended a couple meetings, the whole shebang. It wasn’t until he was packing up to leave for the day that anything got hectic.

“Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark, we have a problem!” his intern, Miles, burst through the glass door of his office. He had a stack of documents in his hand, his brows drawn together with concern.

“What’s going on?”

“Someone from the IRS called,” before Miles even finished Tony’s head was in his hands. He couldn’t do this. Not right now. He was well aware that he owed taxes, well aware that his former business partner, Obie, had cheated the IRS using the same company a while back. He was well aware of the consequences of not dealing with the IRS, had seen them nearly take down his own father. But what he didn’t expect that it would come knocking on his door so soon.

“And what did they say?”

“They said something about owing money and deadlines.”

“Well that’s just fantastic. ‘Money and deadlines’ is such a  _ helpful _ insight into why one of the most daunting entities in the country has just called my place of business. Thanks, Miles,” Tony knew he was being overly harsh as soon as the words came out of his mouth. But he was nervous, shitting bricks really. He knew his nervousness wasn’t an acceptable excuse for being so malicious (his therapist never failed to tell him), but he just couldn’t find it in himself to at least try to be calm. His arm itched. Miles stared at his shoes for a moment, clearly embarrassed.

“I wrote down most of what they said for you, Mr. Stark,” he stepped forward to place the stack of papers on his desk, leaving a piece of notepad paper on the top. “I’m going to go home for the day if you don’t need me anymore,” his big brown eyes were nervously peering up at Tony now, and  _ god _ , he was just like Peter. Eyes all soft and vulnerable, deep browns showing off nothing but the need to impress. He couldn’t keep up his hard facade.

“That’s okay, Miles. You have a good night okay?” Tony made sure his voice was softened quite a bit, now aiming to soothe rather than smart. The boy turned from the office, heading out of sight and out of mind.

Tony immediately put his briefcase down, turning to pull up his account statement for the week on his bank’s website and pulling up the spreadsheet Miles had finished for him that afternoon and getting to work on not getting arrested for tax evasion. He worked intensely, effectively. He ignored the insistent itch in his arm. Tony had been working so diligently he hadn’t even realized he had been working for hours when his phone started buzzing on his desk. He let it ring a couple times, quickly finishing up calculating yet another equation for how much profit he would need to bring in in the next couple weeks to be able to pay off both the last and current month’s bills. He quickly tapped his phone before the other person would be sent to voicemail, squishing the device between his shoulder and his ear, already getting back to work.

“Stark.”

“Dad?” Peter’s voice came through the line, slightly shaky and higher than normal. “Dad where are you?”

“Oh, shit. Petey! I’m sorry, honey. I’m still at work right now, I’m having a bit of a financial struggle at the moment.” The guilt that ran through Tony at the sound of his son’s panicked voice felt worse than the tax debt. He totally forgot to call home or even leave money for dinner. “Have you eaten yet? Do you need to order food?”

“I already ate, Dad, I ordered DoorDash.” At least he hadn’t starved all night.

“Okay, bud, that’s good. I’m going to try to wrap things up here, alright? I should be back by…” he peered over at the clock on his monitor. “Ten thirty, ten forty-five tops. Will you be okay until I get back or will your intense love for me override your ability to function?” his joke fell flat.

“Yeah. I just thought maybe something had happened because you didn’t call.”

“I’m sorry, buddy. I didn’t mean to forget to call you. I’ll try not to let that happen again, okay? And I’m about to pack up and leave. I’ll see you at home, kiddo.”

Peter said his goodbyes and hung up, leaving his father to finally leave his office for the night, albeit past ten at night. The drive home was much faster than the drive to work, and for that Tony was grateful. He needed to see his kid, he needed to see him calm, not panicked and shaking on the other end of the telephone. He needed to make sure he had his homework done, had everything he needed for school in the morning, he needed to make sure his kid got to a  _ bed _ . It was nearly eleven at night, for chrissakes, and Tony wasn’t even home yet. His arm itched even more.

The house was unusually quiet as the man came in the front door. No TV blasting, no loud FaceTime calls with Ned, no Kendrick Lamar blaring through the confines of his son’s bedroom,  _ nothing _ . 

“Pete?” Tony called out, dropping his keys noisily in the crap bowl sitting on the accent table next to the front door. He slipped his dress shoes off, leaving them on the rack also near the door, and headed into the kitchen, loosening his tie on the way. He checked the kitchen, he checked the dining room, he checked the living room, still no Pete. The man called out for his son again as he headed up the stairs. Still no reply. When he reached his son’s door at the end of the hallway, he knocked softly, opening the door slowly as not to be too loud. Ah. His son was sprawled out on his bed, mouth slightly ajar and drool beginning to pool onto his pillow. Tony quietly approached his son’s sleeping figure, snapping a quick picture with his phone to forever capture the warmth he felt in his heart from seeing his son so content. He wiped the small bit of drool from the kid’s mouth with his sleeve and planted a kiss on his forehead, glad that Peter had gotten to bed okay. He was content, he thought after leaving the room. Even though his arm still itched. The man headed to his room, finally getting ready for bed. 

Freshly showered and in a clean pair of pajamas, Tony sat in his bed, not quite ready for sleep, but ready for winding down for the night. If the itch would let him. He knew what it meant, he knew what that itch could bring, so he tried his best to ignore it. But it was insistent that night, creating a near burning sensation in his arm. Before he had even realized it, Tony was off his bed and in the back of his closet, dragging the wooden box from the high shelf he knew Peter couldn’t reach. It wasn’t until he was staring at a small baggy, a lighter, a syringe, and a spoon before it really sunk in for him. He could back out now. He could flush the baggy, he could break the syringe so he wouldn’t be tempted to use it. But he knew he wasn’t going to do that.

Almost mechanically he took the box into his hands and went into his en suite, shutting the door behind him and sitting on the toilet lid. He made quick work of heating the contents of the bag on the spoon, and getting it into the syringe, tapping the bubbles out. It wasn’t until he was too far gone on the feeling of the substance entering his veins that he heard stuff shifting around outside the bathroom door. Turning his head toward the door, Tony sluggishly tried to get up, but failed miserably, tumbling to the tile, and cracking his head on the counter on the way.

“Dad?!” Tony had never thought he feel so horrible during such an intense high. He barely had a moment to think before the door swung open, his embarrassing and inebriated state revealed to his son.

“Dad, you....” Peter stopped in his tracks, seeing the glossy look in his dad’s eyes, the way he was slumped over, the blood smeared on his head, the syringe lying on the ground next to him. “You told me you’d quit.”

“Pete, I-” Tony tried to slur, only to be interrupted.

“You  _ told _ me it was over. You told me I could  _ trust _ you!” the words burned, like a hot knife straight through his heart. “I  _ believed  _ you! I was-” the boy heaved out a broken sob. “I was  _ proud _ of you.” The kid sucked his bottom lip in, shaking his head. “I have to go.”

And just like that, the kid was gone. Out of the room. Back to his room? Maybe. Downstairs crying? Maybe. Running through the streets of Queens in the middle of the night? God only knew; Tony definitely didn’t know. He was still slumped on the bathroom floor, still high as all hell. His arm still itched. 

His arm still itched and now he was alone, his kid off somewhere doing God knows what, and none of that even occurred to him. All he could feel was momentary bliss, could barely even remember what his kid  _ just _ said to him. But did it matter? Not then it didn’t. He’d probably feel it in the morning when he would have to search the streets of Queens alone for his wayward son, when he’d have to dump his supplies again, when he’d have to face his son  _ again _ . But right then, he felt good. Better than he had before. So he’d thought.  _ Nothing could ever compare _ , his foggy brain said.  _ Nothing is ever as good _ . And maybe it was true, maybe it was a fact some people swore by. But only in the morning could Tony Stark know whether it was worth it. Whether the high was worth the lows of his relationship with Peter, the rock bottom that he felt he was plummeting to.  _ Whatever _ , he thought.  _ In the morning. _

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr @ captainfoool


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